Kill the Boy
by Queen of Ice and Winter
Summary: "We all carry burdens from the days we are born to the days we die. You may despise your burden, but it's yours to bear. Kill the boy Jon, and let the man be born. Remember that, Jon Targaryen. Kill the boy and let the man be born." Death had dashed Jon's dreams and gave him a heavy burden he never wanted or expected: heir apparent and marriage to his half-sister Rhaenys. Oneshot.
1. Kill the Boy

KILL THE BOY

* * *

Beads of sweat dotted Jon's forehead as the blazing sun bore down on him. In a matter of minutes, more sweat droplets appeared and for the third time in half an hour, Jon pulled out his linen handkerchief to wipe it away. He loathed the hot summer, he hated the strong stench of piss that wafted around him and above all he despised King's Landing.

While most newcomers or guests thought the reek of the city to be tolerable in a short while and were impressed by the magnificence of the Red Keep which sat proudly atop Aegon's Hill, Jon thought the smell unbearable and the Red Keep an enormous prison. A prison of old, horrible memories.

Jon's dry lips tightened into a thin line as he rode towards the Red Keep. It had been ten years since he last saw the castle's familiar pale red stone and the seven massive drum towers crowned with iron ramparts. He had not forgotten the vast curtain walls that surrounded the keep which was a reminder that he had been a prisoner in the Red Keep for the first ten years of his life. As he noticed the thick stone parapets around four feet high that protected the outer edge of all the wall ramparts, he remembered the rotting heads of traitors that were placed on iron spikes between the crenels at the gatehouse. Not a pleasant memory. Then again, none of Jon's memories of the Red Keep were at all pleasing.

"Are you delighted to be home at last my prince?" asked Ser Balon Swann, one of the two knights of the Kingsguard that were sent to escort Jon to the Red Keep. Ser Balon was a tall man, big across the chest with arms thick with muscle. Like a good many knights that serve the king, he was a stranger to Jon. Ser Balon Swann was polite though, and had been quite good company to talk to from the Wall all the way down to King's Landing.

"Home…" Jon mused. For ten, long, torturous years, Jon felt he was a prisoner in the most luxurious prison in the Seven Kingdoms. Every night he had dreamed he would escape; every morning he would wake in his immense, empty chamber with two servants waiting for his orders. His clothes with a few exceptions, were all black and red, the colours of House Targaryen – his House. He was addressed as His Royal Highness Prince Jon Targaryen, but he felt more like an insignificant member of the court who lurked and watched from the shadows. When the tenth year of his imprisonment rolled into the eleventh, his key to freedom came in the person of his uncle, the solemn Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Those two days of Uncle Eddard's visit were dark days. Was _I to remain in this prison or leave for the North?_ Jon remembered. Thankfully by the evening of the second day, one of the knights of the Kingsguard was sent to tell Jon that he was to be fostered for a couple of years at Winterfell. It was the only time Jon recalled he smiled.

King Rhaegar, his _father_ , Jon refrained from a tempting scowl, had never once spoke to him, held him, embraced or kissed him when he was a child. _All because I am not his Visenya_. Instead of experiencing a father's love when he was a young boy, he was left at the mercy of nursemaids, tutors and servants. Even now a man of fourteen, Jon could not imagine what King Rhaegar looked like.

"My prince?" prompted Ser Balon.

"I have not been in King's Landing since I was a child," said Jon quietly. "When I spent time with my uncle Benjen and my um…great, great, grand uncle Maester Aemon at the Wall, I found it more enjoyable."

Ser Balon chuckled. "The Wall, my prince? It is cold up there. Freezing. Surely a lad like you will prefer the warm south in comparison!"

Everyone at the Wall spoke truthfully, Jon wanted to say. There were no plots, lies and deceit there. At Winterfell too, he felt welcomed. Jon inwardly sighed. He missed his Stark relations already, even though he was going to be spending time with them in a few days during the wedding festivities.

 _His_ wedding.

And Rhaenys's.

 _Their_ wedding.

Apprehension settled in Jon's stomach as he found himself staring at the rising portcullis which led to the courtyard. _I would've been happier a sworn brother of the Night's Watch than the Crown Prince of Westeros_. Jon never wanted to be heir apparent to the Iron Throne or have his half-sister Rhaenys as his lady wife and future queen. It was their brother Aegon who was crown prince and destined to marry Rhaenys. _Everyone_ expected it, even the lords – including his uncle Eddard – who once rebelled against the Iron Throne. Aegon and Rhaenys were to be the next king and queen, not _Jon_ and Rhaenys. Jon and Rhaenys seemed…wrong.

Reluctantly, Jon urged his horse forward and he rode into the courtyard with a small, forced smile on his pale face. To his surprise and utmost horror, there was a large crowd of lords and ladies already there waiting for him. At the front of the sea of courtiers were a tall man in a night-black plate armour with a slender gold band set with seven rubies resting on his brow, a beautiful, slender woman with smooth olive skin with a long torrent of black hair, strands of it hiding bits of the golden circlet that nestled against her forehead and a young lady who looked like the other woman except more youthful and paler.

Jon stared at the man. _Your father_. He no longer looked like the handsome and melancholic prince women sang about. Kingship had aged him as did the death of his heir. The king's silver hair didn't seem to shine like the moon beams at night and his dark indigo eyes were encircled with shadows.

Keeping his eyes on the king, Jon dismounted and knelt. "Your Grace," he said stiffly like the vassal speaking to the king rather than a son to his father. He lifted his head. The king didn't speak. After what seemed like hours, the king uttered, "I welcome you home Jaehaerys." He did not move.

 _Jaehaerys?_

"My name is _Jon_ Your Grace," Jon reminded him, standing up. He fixed his dark grey eyes on the king's. "My name is Jon," he repeated.

" _Jon_ ," the king breathed. "A childhood name, naught more. Jon is a good name, a strong name yes, but not the name for the future king. When I die and you take my place, you will be Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, the Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and the Protector of the Realm." He smiled. "With Rhaenys as your queen."

Jon dug his nails into his palms. "My name is Jon," he said, gritting his teeth. "I am not Jaehaerys Your Grace."

The king turned to the courtiers. "We welcome back Crown Prince Jaehaerys. I hope you see to it that he finds court his home again." He smiled charmingly and his attention returned to Jon. "Jaehaerys, this is my wife Elia, and I'm certain you can still remember your sister and bride, Rhaenys."

Jon's eyes darted from the king's to Elia, formerly of House Martell. He did not know what to say to his lady stepmother. Thankfully, the queen decided to speak first. "Good afternoon Jaehaerys," she said warmly as if Jon was her own son. Odd as Jon was Lady Lyanna Stark's son, the woman her husband ran away with. "It's good to see you home." She pressed a white lacy handkerchief to her mouth and coughed. Jon noticed a flash of concern on the king's face. Rhaenys touched Elia's arm comfortingly. "Welcome Brother," Rhaenys said to Jon, who felt unsettled by his future wife calling him her brother. "Last I saw you, you were a boy of ten and much shorter…and with more black curls."

Jon blushed as a couple of the courtiers laughed. "You look…well, Rhaenys," he said cautiously. It was still strange and rather uncomfortable knowing he was to wed and bed his own sister – truthfully half-sister – in a few days' time. If he had a choice, he would never have left the Wall. He would've said his vows and joined the ranks of the Night's Watch with no regrets. He would've been _happy_ , perhaps even at home. Instead, Aegon had to foolishly announce his decision to travel the Free Cities with a few chosen friends on _Conqueror_ , one of the king's most prized ships. When he boarded the ship and sailed out, apparently he'd drank too much Arbor gold the night before and crashed the _Conqueror_ into a mass of jagged and sharp rocks. Neither Aegon or his companions survived.

Thanks to Aegon's actions, a letter written by the king arrived at Castle Black a week later, _commanding_ Jon to prepare to return to King's Landing accompanied by two knights of the Kingsguard: Ser Balon Swann and Ser Garth Hightower. Jon was now the crown prince and upon his return to the capital, his first duty as the heir to the Iron Throne will be to wed his half-sister Rhaenys.

Jon wanted neither of that. It wasn't as if the king lacked heirs and the thought of marrying Rhaenys who was as much a stranger as the king was…

At least there was the chance of pretending Rhaenys was not his sister.

"…you must acquaint yourself with the lords," the king was saying. "You have been away for so long and as crown prince, you should speak to them. Thanks to your years of fostering at Winterfell, I suspect you know them all quite well now. It is about time you know the southron lords just as well Jaehaerys. One day you are to rule over the Seven Kingdoms, not only of the North." His long black cloak swirled around him as he paused for a moment. "I leave you with Rhaenys then," he said finally, turning to leave. "Hopefully the two of you will be more amicable to each other when you wed."

More amicable?

Rhaenys smiled, walked up to Jon and took his hand. "I will have the servants take care of your bags," she assured him. "I will show you the godswood and then you can tell me about all the beautiful godswoods you saw in the North. We don't have to speak about Aegon, Father, my mother, your mother, the rebellion or any matter related to that. Agreed?"

Jon nodded and offered her a small smile. It wouldn't hurt to get to know her a little more before the wedding. He never wanted a wife, but there was absolutely no use dwelling on the matter. He must pick up the burden of marriage and bear it till the very end. _We all have our burdens to bear_ , Jon remembered. His relative, Maester Aemon Targaryen, had told that to him before he'd reluctantly left Castle Black for the long journey to King's Landing. "We all carry burdens from the days we are born to the days we die," Maester Aemon had said in his soft and calming voice. "You may despise your burden, but it is yours to bear. Kill the boy, Jon. Kill the boy and let the man be born. Remember that, Jon Targaryen. Kill the boy and let the man be born." Jon had never forgotten those words.

"Is something on your mind, Jaehaerys?"

"My name is Jon," said Jon automatically, "not Jaehaerys."

Rhaenys glanced at him, tilting her head inquisitively like a bird. "Jon isn't the of a Targaryen king," she said flatly, "not even a Targaryen prince. Our father said that if it was he instead of Lord Stark with Lady Lyanna at the Tower of Joy, you'd be named Jaehaerys. Lady Lyanna would surely have agreed with him. She knew she was giving birth to a Targaryen prince who must have a Valyrian name. If our father didn't need Lord Stark as an ally back then, he would have announced you as Prince Jaehaerys from the start, not Prince Jon."

 _We all have our burdens to bear. Apparently one of mine includes battling the king and my future wife for the use of mine own name_. The king had already stolen his childhood, robbed him of love and deprived him of the opportunity to join the Night's Watch. _The king_ will not _take my name from me_. "We are to be married in a few days, yes?" asked Jon.

"Indeed we are," affirmed Rhaenys, her black eyes fixing on him inquiringly. "I believe there will be a week of celebrations afterwards. Do you joust? Father will expect you to joust. Aegon…" She shook her head. "I apologise for bringing it up – we did agree not to speak about Aegon and Father and all that."

"I suspect those matters are all the courtiers speak about?" Rhaenys nodded, a mark of uncertainty on her face. Jon was not surprised. Before he could continue, Rhaenys rushed in and said, "There's the godswood Jaehaerys." She strode to the mass of trees gracefully, pulling Jon with her. "It overlooks the Blackwater Rush," she told him, "one of the major rivers of the Seven Kingdoms." Jon did not bother telling her that he learnt the geography and history of Westeros – typically about the south – when he was still a reluctant resident in the Red Keep.

"How does this godswood compare to Winterfell's, Jaehaerys?"

Out of all places Jon had roamed in the Red Keep as a child, the godswood was the only place he felt closest to home. Jon absently touched the heart tree, a great oak, whose limbs had become overgrown with smokeberry vines. When he was a young boy, he would oft seek sanctuary here to escape the numerous stares and whispers inside the castle. Jon glanced around. The godswood was a large acre of elm, alder and black cottonwood trees. It was quiet, and the only music Jon heard was the soft rustlings of the leaves played by the summer wind.

"It is beautiful," murmured Jon. Rhaenys raised an eyebrow. "Winterfell's was enchanting too." Even now, after many weeks of travelling, he could still envision it. The ancient Winterfell godswood had stood untouched for ten thousand years, with three acres of old packed earth and a cluster of stubborn sentinel trees and mighty oaks and ironwoods creating a dense canopy which Winterfell was raised around. At the centre of the grove stood an ancient weirwood heart tree standing over a pool of still, black water. It was a memorable sight.

"The godswood frightens me," said Rhaenys with a shiver. "That oak tree with a face carved into it…" She shuddered. "It is unnatural."

"It's perfectly natural," said Jon, half-heartedly squeezing her hand in an effort to comfort her. "There is a godswood in every keep in the North. Almost as many as the number of septs in southron castles. Southron lords have godswoods too. I hear Highgarden's godswood contains three weirwoods."

"I heard about the Three Singers too."

"Three Singers?"

"The three weirwood trees you mentioned in the Highgarden godswood. They are called the Three Singers. Lord Tyrell told me about it a few days ago when he tried to convince me to visit Highgarden _before_ our wedding."

Jon couldn't resist a snort. "Before?" The blustering Lord of Highgarden was a fool if he truly believed he could gain a Targaryen good-daughter that way. "He'd given up trying to persuade the king to break his daughter's betrothal to Quentyn Martell? I don't think the king will be pleased."

Rhaenys laughed. "The Fat Flower of Highgarden is an oaf, isn't he? All he does is flatter, bluster and dream of having his family united with ours." She shook her head. "Fool. He should be grateful that my uncle Prince Doran agreed to fostering Margaery Tyrell _and_ affiancing her to Cousin Quentyn who is now Uncle Doran's heir as Cousin Arianne married Father's former squire Edmure Tully."

Jon listened to Rhaenys recite a list of betrothals and marriages with ease that caused his head to spin. Was he expected to remember all this for later? The only betrothal he recalled was that of Cousin Robb Stark's to Daenerys Targaryen, his aunt who wasn't much older than Jon himself. Their betrothal, Uncle Eddard had explained, was to effectively show the Seven Kingdoms all hostilities between the royal House and House Stark were at an end and the Starks were loyal to the Iron Throne once more. Oh there were plenty of post-rebellion betrothals to unite the Great Houses together again: Stark and Targaryen, Tyrell and Martell and Martell and Tully being only some.

"Must I remember all this?" Jon broke in. Rhaenys ceased speaking and stared at him, astonished. "Must you?" she repeated, releasing her hold on his hand and crossing her arms. " _Must you?_ You are the crown prince Jaehaerys! You will soon be the _king_. You are expected to play the game of thrones; play and _win_. You need to know how to ally with lords without greatly displeasing others and keep peace throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Have you learnt nothing?"

 _I was ignored for ten years!_ Jon wanted to shout. _I was not even a pawn; I was a shadow! I crept around the Red Keep for_ ten years _until the gods finally granted my deepest desire in having me fostered at Winterfell, far away from this pit of snakes! There was no game of thrones at Winterfell, no games at all! I trained with swords, bows and spiked maces, not in riddles and games of lies!_ Instead, Jon said flatly. "I had a long day of travelling. I didn't mean to be so…irritable."

Rhaenys relaxed and smiled at him again. "Of course. I must apologise as well, Jaehaerys. I should've…considered your weariness. Shall we go inside now?"

"As you wish," said Jon dully.

"Tomorrow we will be visiting the markets and Flea Bottom," said Rhaenys, as they slowly made their way out of the godswood and back to the courtyard. "It is paramount the people see and love us do you not agree? We will also distribute a few old toys and alms to the poor. I suppose you'll wish to pay a visit to the shops on the Street of Steel to assure them of um, your future patronage perhaps? They – the smiths – will greatly appreciate it."

Jon nodded. Slightly irritated at Rhaenys's authoritative tone, he said nothing. What she had said was wise. The people did not know him except that he was the son of the woman who sparked a rebellion. Throughout his life, lords, merchants and smallfolk alike blamed him for the war. Some said that even though he bore the Targaryen name, he would destroy the Targaryens due to his 'bastard blood' in his veins as even though the king married Lady Lyanna Stark, he was husband to Elia Martell – and still was. Others pitied him and called him the child of death and grief. Jon supposed the only thing he inherited from the king was his famous bouts of melancholy.

"We are to be husband and wife soon," Rhaenys reminded Jon. "The people of King's Landing will expect to see us together more. Forgive me for my…bluntness Jaehaerys, but the people know naught about you. You are to succeed Father, and all we want to do is help you."

Help?

 _It is more like you wish to rule through me_. Again, Jon held his tongue. He was a newcomer here; friendless and alone too. No, it would be better to at least strive for a harmonious relationship with his future sister-wife. If he could not consider Rhaenys his wife, an advisor or ally would do.

Jon smiled at Rhaenys again, this time more genuine. Rhaenys seemed slightly surprised. He reached out and squeezed her hand. "I look forward to listening to your advice." Rhaenys beamed back. Her expression was almost of relief.

* * *

 _"His mother was the cause of a war…"_

 _"So many men lost their lives because of Lyanna Stark…"_

 _"A northerner. He's a bloody northerner."_

Jon stared at himself in the immense mirror in front of him, the frame adorned with intricately etched symbols, mostly of dragons and direwolves. Looking back at him was a young man with a long face, grey eyes so dark, almost black, curls of dark brown hair and a solemn expression. He wore a doublet of black velvet with lines of rubies running from his neck to naval, beneath a cloak of night-black silk blazoned with the red three-headed dragon. Resting awkwardly on his brow was a simple band of silver encrusted with rubies and the small blade strapped to his sword-belt was of Valyrian steel, the pommel a dragon's head with its eyes made of the tiniest of black onyxes. It was a wedding gift sent from the king a few hours after Jon settled in his chambers a couple of days ago. It was a thoughtful present and Jon appreciated it…until he learnt it was previously owned by Aegon who in turn was given it by the king as a name day present.

"We all have burdens to bear," Jon said aloud to himself. _Kill the boy and let the man be born_. There was no point hating the king for bestowing him a pre-owned dagger. Perhaps it was a Targaryen tradition, giving the same dagger to each heir to the Iron Throne. Mayhap one day in the future he too would be gifting his own son and heir with that dagger. He instinctively shuddered. Wedding Rhaenys was one matter but bedding her…

If Jon was in control of his own destiny, he would be garbed in black and at the Wall, ranging in the haunted forest, guarding or training with his sworn brothers or even recruiting, not standing in front of an enormous mirror in the Red Keep, waiting to be escorted to the Great Sept of Baelor for his own wedding.

Jon sighed. His clothes were uncomfortable and in a few minutes, he would be participating in the Targaryen tradition of marrying one's sister. _I've never asked for this. I never wanted this…_

"My prince?" Ser Balon knocked on the door. "It is time."

 _We all have our burdens to bear._

* * *

"He looks naught like the late crown prince…"

"So melancholic…just like his father…"

"It looks as if he is attending a funeral rather than his own wedding…"

"Mind you, it will be our Princess Rhaenys as the true ruler, not this prince we do not know anything about. Mark my words on it."

As he always did, Jon ignored what the people said about him as he walked up the steps to the entrance hall. Since he arrived at King's Landing, he had been the object of stares and whispers. The smallfolk murmured about their loss of grains and crops due to the wall; the nobles muttered about all the bloodshed and death that could've been avoided if Lady Lyanna Stark hadn't run off with the king; and both the smallfolk and courtiers agreed that it was Lady Lyanna at fault of all the unnecessary loss of lives and as she was dead, they laid the fault on Jon.

 _Do not run from duty; embrace it_. Jon remembered more words from Maester Aemon as he walked through the entrance hall, beneath the suspended globes of coloured leaded glass to the double doors. It wasn't long before Jon felt someone beside him. He glanced to his left and saw Rhaenys looking serenely back at him, her lips curved into a smile. Her dark brown hair, left unbound, tumbled down to her waist. Nestled comfortably on her head was a silver circlet dripping with tiny droplets of rubies as red as blood and seeds of onyxes as black as the feathers of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch's pet raven. Around her neck glistened a string of rubies that winked at Jon.

"Shall we?" said Rhaenys, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear.

Wordlessly, Jon offered her his hand and she took it. The double doors opened and the two of them entered. Rhaenys's loose layers of black samite embroidered with red swirls swelled at every step she took with Jon on the marble floor. Light shone through the great windows of coloured leaded glass and yellow flames had flickered on the seven altars in the vast sept. Standing opposite Jon and Rhaenys a short distance away at the marriage alter between two towering gilded statues of the Father and the Mother was the High Septon, a squat and very fat man with the great crystal crown atop his head of grey hair.

 _Bear your burden with strength._

On either side of Jon and Rhaenys stood hundreds of wedding guests, some of them family and the remainder lords and knights from all over Westeros. There were faces Jon recognised from his few days at court: the bald and smiling Varys, Master of Whisperers, the coughing Lord Gyles Rosby and Jalabhar Xho, an exiled prince from the Summer Isles. As Jon and Rhaenys steadily approached the High Septon, Jon had a clear view of those who were given honoured places to witness the wedding at the front.

First there were the Baratheons of Storm's End, the broad-shouldered, sinewy and tight-faced Lord Stannis towering next to his wife Lady Mina Tyrell and their three black-haired and blue-eyed children; the Tyrells stood next to them, Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden leaning on his lacquer black cane, his two brothers beside him, Lord Mace puffing his chest proudly for no particular reason and his daughter the pretty Lady Margaery beaming widely; and the Martells were closer with Prince Doran Martell smiling, sitting on his special wheel chair with his sons Quentyn and Trystane next to him; only daughter Arianne on his other side along with Edmure, Prince Doran's good-son and their three auburn-haired daughters; and hovering behind Prince Doran was his brother, Prince Oberyn the Red Viper, who had bore an enigmatic grin unlike his wife Lady Cersei Lannister whose lips were curled into a rather nasty scowl. With them was a pouting boy who must be their son. Jon was proud to have recognised so many of the great lords and their family members present after a little less than three days at court. Well, Rhaenys did help in that area.

The closest to Jon and Rhaenys were naturally the king and Queen Elia, Uncle Viserys and Aunt Daenerys. Of them four, it was Uncle Viserys who looked solely unhappy _. He thought he had a chance to be next heir and future king_ , reflected Jon as the texts about the Dance of Dragons flashed in his mind. If it was a few weeks ago, Jon would've been happy giving the crown to Viserys.

Jon glanced to his right and smiled as he saw Uncle Eddard with his wife Aunt Catelyn Tully (Edmure's brother) and their five children: a grinning Robb who'd inherited his mother's Tully looks, sweet Sansa who looked beautiful in her gown of blue and grey, a bored-looking Arya who no doubt would've loved to be in the courtyard sparring rather than attend a wedding in the Great Sept, an eager Bran who smiled excitedly at Jon, and finally little Rickon who stared intently at all the coloured glass windows, distracted by its beauty.

 _Baratheons, Tyrells, Martells, Tullys, Starks, Targaryens, Arryns and Lannisters – I will be ruling over them one day,_ Jon contemplated as the High Septon began to drone. It was so hard to believe they were at war, rebels against loyalists, fifteen years ago. It was even more difficult to think that the king convinced them to lay down their arms after the Battle of the Trident. Jon could imagine it though, the king offering pardons to all and promising peace and compensation, stating that they had spilt enough blood as it was and should turn their attentions to the root of the trouble, the Mad King. One by one, each lord would be won over and Lords Arryn and Tully sent to end the siege at Storm's End and Lord Stark off to Dorne to rescue Jon's mother, Lady Lyanna. Jon twitched on impulse. _His mother was the cause of the war…_

The king stepped forward and unclasped Rhaenys's maiden's cloak, a fraying, old mantle that the king's mother had worn in her wedding.

The High Septon cleared his throat and looked at Jon. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection," Jon picked up the heavy black velvet cloak sewed with a large three-headed dragon from a plump velvet cushion – the bride's cloak. He stood behind Rhaenys and silently cast the huge cloak over her back and fastened the clasp around her neck. He moved back to his spot and held Rhaenys's hand again, gritting his teeth as the High Septon fumbled as he tied the silk ribbon around their hands. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity," the High Septon said at last. "Look upon one another and say the words."

Jon turned and gazed at his sister Rhaenys who stared back at him, her pretty smile frozen on her smooth face. _We all carry burdens from the days we are born to the days we die. You may despise your burden, but it is yours to bear. Kill the boy and let the man be born_. Jon breathed deeply and spoke loudly, clear, and without falter. "Father, Smith, Warrior," he said in unison with Rhaenys, "Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I'm hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days." He kissed her lightly on the cheek.

One day Jon would learn to accept Rhaenys properly as his sister-wife and his future queen. One day he would see her as the mother of his children, the heirs to the Iron Throne. One day…

The sound of the wedding guests' clapping echoed in the Great Sept as Jon and Rhaenys turned to them. Jon snuck a glance at his new bride. _Smile,_ her dark eyes encouraged. _Smile at them. You will be their king one day_. Jon smiled and his eyes swept across the mass of attendees, the resonance of their clapping rising.

 _Kill the boy…_

No more sneaking in shadows and wishfully dreaming of running away to the Wall; time to carry his burden and play his part in duty's game. Marry, have sons, play and learn to win the game of thrones…

 _…_ _and let the man be born_.

* * *

 **This is my very first oneshot! :) I was very excited to write it and upload it. I heard that most oneshots are either streams of thoughts or short stories and if any of you have any great tips on writing better oneshots, please let me know :D I hope you guys enjoyed reading 'Kill the Boy'! Igl, I hope this matches what you had in mind :)**

 **Igl's prompt for those who are curious/confused (rough summary):**

 **\- Rhaegar wins the Battle of the Trident and convinces the other lords that the Mad King is the main problem. He somehow convinces them to put down their weapons and support him against the rest of Aerys II's loyalists.**

 **\- Lyanna Stark still dies but Jon is a Targaryen prince (though ignored by Rhaegar and the court).**

 **\- After 10 years, Jon is fostered in the North and his dream is to join the Night's Watch. He is forbidden to take his vows until Aegon has heirs of his own with Rhaenys, but as Aegon dies, Jon is crown prince and has to return to King's Landing to marry Rhaenys.**

 **\- Rhaenys is obviously more used to the idea of Targaryen-style marriages than Jon is and is more knowledgable about court and politics as she has lived in King's Landing all her life while Jon hasn't.**

 **I had also taken this opportunity to practise and improve writing Jon POVs so I hope it is alright. I understand if some of you dislike Rhaenys's attitude or how she is treating Jon, but unlike Jon who Rhaegar pretty much ignored, Rhaenys is loved and kind of spoilt in a way.**

 **I also uploaded an appendix for those who are confused at the new betrothals, marriages etc. Most of it is pretty irrelevant but I had fun messing around with it haha.**


	2. Appendix

HOUSE TARGARYEN

KING RHAEGAR TARGARYEN, the First of His Name,

· His first wife, QUEEN ELIA, of House Martell,

· His second wife, {LADY LYANNA, of House Stark}, died in childbed,

· Their children:

o PRINCESS RHAENYS, eighteen, wed to her half-brother Prince Jon,

o {PRINCE AEGON}, heir to the Iron Throne, drowned,

o PRINCE JON, fifteen, wed to his half-sister Princess Rhaenys,

· His siblings:

o PRINCE VISERYS, a man of twenty two,

o PRINCESS DAENERYS, a maiden of thirteen, betrothed to Robb Stark,

· His small council:

o GRAND MAESTER PYCELLE,

o LORD TYWIN LANNISTER, Hand of the King,

o LORD STANNIS BARATHEON, Master of Laws,

o LORD PAXTER REDWYNE, Master of Ships,

o LORD WYMAN MANDERLY, Master of Coin,

o SER ARTHUR DAYNE, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,

o VARYS, a eunuch, called the Spider, Master of Whisperers,

· His Kingsguard:

o SER ARTHUR DAYNE, the Sword of the Morning, Lord Commander,

o SER BARRISTAN SELMY, called Barristan the Bold,

o SER GARTH HIGHTOWER,

o SER ARYS OAKHEART,

o SER BALON SWANN,

o SER LYLE CRAKEHALL,

o SER MANDON MOORE.

Principal houses sworn to the Iron Throne are Bar Emmon, Blount, Buckwell, Celtigar, Chelsted, Hayford, Rosby, Rykker, Stokeworth, Sunglass, Thorne and Velaryon.

HOUSE ARRYN

JON ARRYN, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale and Warden of the East,

· His first wife, {LADY JEYNE, of House Royce}, died in childbed, her daughter stillborn,

· His second wife, {LADY ROWENA, of House Arryn}, died of a winter chill, childless,

· His third wife, LADY LYSA, of House Tully,

o Their son, ROBERT, a boy of six.

Principal houses sworn to the Eyrie are Baelish, Belmore, Corbray, Egen, Hersy, Hunter, Redford, Royce and Waynwood.

HOUSE BARATHEON

STANNIS BARATHEON, Lord of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and Master of Laws,

· His wife, LADY MINA, of House Tyrell,

· Their children:

o ORYS, a boy of twelve,

o SHIREEN, a girl of nine,

o BOREMUND, a boy of six,

· His brothers:

o {LORD ROBERT}, his elder brother, betrothed to Lyanna Stark, slain by Rhaegar in the Battle of the Trident,

o SER RENLY, his younger brother, twenty one.

Principal houses sworn to Storm's End are Caron, Dondarrion, Errol, Estermont, Penrose, Selmy, Swann, Tarth, Trant and Wylde.

HOUSE GREYJOY

BALON GREYJOY, Lord of the Iron Islands, Son of the Sea Wind, the Greyjoy and Lord Reaper of Pyke,

· His wife, LADY ALANNYS, of House Harlaw,

· Their children:

o RODRIK, their eldest son, heir to Pyke,

Ø His wife, LADY GWYNETH, of House Goodbrother,

o MARON, their second son, twenty two,

o ASHA, their daughter, a woman of twenty,

o THEON, their youngest son, eighteen,

· His brothers:

o EURON, called Crow's Eye, Captain of the _Silence_ , an outlaw, pirate and raider,

o VICTARION, Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet,

o AERON, called Damphair, a priest of the Drowned God.

Houses sworn to Pyke include Botley, Goodbrother, Harlaw, Merlyn, Stonehouse, Sunderly, Tawney and Wynch.

HOUSE LANNISTER

TYWIN LANNISTER, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport and Hand of the King,

· His wife, {LADY JOANNA}, a cousin, died in childbed,

· Their children:

o SER JAIME, called the Kingslayer, heir to Casterly Rock, a twin to Cersei,

o CERSEI, wed to Prince Oberyn Martell, a twin to Jaime,

o TYRION, a dwarf, twenty five,

· His siblings:

o SER KEVAN, his eldest brother,

Ø His wife, DORNA, of House Swyft,

à Their eldest son, SER LANCEL, a young man of fifteen,

à Their twin sons, WILLEM and MARTYN, thirteen,

à Their only daughter, JANEI, two,

o GENNA, his sister, wed to Ser Emmon Frey,

Ø Their son, SER CLEOS FREY, fourteen,

Ø Their son, TION FREY, a squire,

o {SER TYGETT}, his second brother, died of pox,

Ø His widow, DARLESSA, of House Marbrand,

Ø Their son, TYREK, a young man of fifteen,

o {SER GERION}, lost at sea,

Ø His bastard daughter, JOY, a girl of eleven,

· Their cousin, SER STAFFORD LANNISTER, brother to the late Lady Joanna,

o His daughters, CERENNA and MYRIELLE,

o His son, DAVEN LANNISTER.

Principal houses sworn to Casterly Rock are Banefort, Broom, Clegane, Crakehall, Lefford, Lydden, Marbrand, Payne, Prester, Serrett, Swyft and Westerling.

HOUSE MARTELL

DORAN NYMEROS MARTELL, Lord of Sunspear and Prince of Dorne,

· His wife, MELLARIO, of the Free City of Norvos,

· Their children:

o PRINCESS ARIANNE, their eldest daughter, wed to Ser Edmure Tully,

o PRINCE QUENTYN, heir to Sunspear, seventeen, betrothed to Margaery Tyrell,

o PRINCE TRYSTANE, their youngest son, eleven,

· His siblings:

o His sister, QUEEN ELIA, wed to King Rhaegar Targaryen,

o His brother, PRINCE OBERYN, the Red Viper,

Ø His wife, LADY CERSEI, of House Lannister,

à Their son, JOFFREY, a boy of twelve.

Principal houses sworn to Sunspear are Allyrion, Blackmont, Dalt, Dayne, Fowler, Gargalen, Jordayne, Ladybright, Manwoody, Qorgyle, Santagar, Toland, Uller, Vaith, Wyl and Yronwood.

HOUSE STARK

EDDARD STARK, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North,

· His wife, LADY CATELYN, of House Tully,

· Their children:

o ROBB, heir to Winterfell, a young man of fourteen, betrothed to Princess Daenerys Targaryen,

o SANSA, their elder daughter, a girl of eleven,

o ARYA, their younger daughter, a girl of nine,

o BRANDON, called Bran, their second son, a boy of seven,

o RICKON, their youngest son, a boy of three,

· His siblings:

o {BRANDON}, his elder brother, murdered by the command of Aerys II Targaryen,

o {LYANNA}, his younger sister, died in the mountains of Dorne,

o BENJEN, his younger brother, First Ranger of the Night's Watch.

Principal houses sworn to Winterfell are Bolton, Cerwyn, Flint, Glover, Hornwood, Karstark, Manderly, Mormont, Reed, Tallhart and Umber.

HOUSE TULLY

HOSTER TULLY, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident,

· His wife, {LADY MINISA, of House Whent}, died in childbed,

· Their children:

o CATELYN, the eldest daughter, wed to Lord Eddard Stark,

o LYSA, the younger daughter, wed to Lord Jon Arryn,

o SER EDMURE, heir to Riverrun,

Ø His wife, PRINCESS ARIANNE, of House Martell,

à Their eldest daughter, CAROLYNE, a girl of seven,

à Their second daughter, MEREIA, a girl of five,

à Their youngest daughter, ALINOR, a girl of three,

· His brother SER BRYNDEN, called the Blackfish.

Houses sworn to Riverrun include Blackwood, Bracken, Darry, Frey, Mallister, Piper, Ryger and Vance.

HOUSE TYRELL

MACE TYRELL, Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South, Defender of the Marches and High Marshal of the Reach,

· His wife, LADY ALERIE, of House Hightower,

· Their children:

o WILLAS, their eldest son, heir to Highgarden, a man of twenty two,

o SER GARLAN, called the Gallant, their second son, twenty one,

o SER LORAS, the Knight of Flowers, their youngest son, fifteen,

o MARGAERY, their daughter, a maiden of fourteen,

· His widowed mother, LADY OLENNA, of House Redwyne, called the Queen of Thorns,

· His sisters:

o MINA, wed to Lord Stannis Baratheon,

o JANNA, wed to Lord Paxter Redwyne,

· His uncles:

o GARTH, called the Gross, Lord Seneschal of Highgarden,

Ø His bastard sons, GARSE and GARRETT FLOWERS,

o SER MORYN, Lord Commander of the City Watch of Oldtown,

o MAESTER GORMON, a scholar of the Citadel.

Principal houses sworn to Highgarden are Crane, Florent, Fossoway, Hightower, Mullendore, Redwyne, Rowan, Tarly and Vyrwel.


End file.
